


Call Me Joe

by crutchie_394



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Cold Weather, First Meetings, Jojo grew up with nuns, Nicknames, Origins, Pre-Canon, crutchie is the one that finds jojo, look at me go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 00:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crutchie_394/pseuds/crutchie_394
Summary: “You still scared?” Crutchie said, easing himself down so they were on the same level. “You’re stutterin’. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”“N-nah,” the kid stammered, flashing a smile that glowed more than it should have. Now that he was closer, Crutchie could see the kid’s teeth were chattering. “Just co-cold from b-being out ‘ere so long.”~~~Or, how Jojo ended up at the Lodging House and got his nickname.





	Call Me Joe

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on Archive, so every bit of feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Takes place 2 years before the strike.

Crutchie elbowed his way through the crowded streets of New York, waving and shouting the headline. His leg was stiff and numb from the cold, and he had earned himself more than a few sympathetic looks from how heavily he was leaning on his crutch. Jack had offered to pay his keep so his leg didn’t seize up in the middle of selling, but Crutchie had insisted on hawking. Besides, the more pity, the more papes he sold.

“Buy a pape, ma’am?” he said, hobbling his way over to a rich-looking woman in an oversized coat barreling her way down the street. “I’ve been havin’ trouble lately, what with this leg of mine all stiff from the cold, and every little penny helps.”

“Oh, you dear thing,” the woman gushed. She reached into the handbag swinging from her wrist. “You need this more than me.” Crutchie beamed at her, handing over one of his papes as the woman pressed a dime into his hand. Usually, he hated playing the pity card, but in weather like this, with fewer buyers coming and going, it was the fastest way to make it back to the semi-warmth of the Lodging House, and most of the newsies took the strategy to heart. In fact, Crutchie had caught Race rubbing snow on his face to exaggerate the red in his cheeks (“The redder, the longer you’s been out in the cold. The longer you’s been out for, the more folks feel bad for you,” Race had explained when he caught Crutchie staring at him).

Crutchie glanced at his bag and slowly counted his remaining papes; ten. He sighed, his breath visible in the air in front of him. Why had he decided to sell alone? His leader, Bear, had gotten an early start, which left Jack to try and convince Crutchie to pair with him for the day. But Crutchie had refused, and now here he was, risking a bum leg in below-zero temperatures because of his own stubbornness.

Then, as he trudged through the snow and cleared his throat to call out another headline, - maybe even trip to gain the attention of any sympathetic folk - he heard a feeble cough come from the alleyway he was passing, followed by the rustling of snow and fabric. Crutchie paused. He turned towards the dark, narrow alley, which looked deserted at first glance, and he was about to continue on his way when he heard the cough again.

“Uh, hello? Anyone here?” he said. He limped into the alley, finding his way using the sharp intake of breath that followed his question. There, behind a stack of overturned crates, was a kid - he seemed even younger than Crutchie’s short twelve years. “Oh - hey, kid.”

The kid jumped, scrambling back against the wall but raising his fists weakly in defense, his face and shoulders tensing. When he saw Crutchie standing over him, he relaxed, lowering his hands. “T-thought you w-were a b-bull,” he explained. Crutchie frowned.

“You still scared?” he said, easing himself down so they were on the same level. “You’re stutterin’. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“N-nah,” the kid stammered, flashing a smile that glowed more than it should have. Now that he was closer, Crutchie could see the kid’s teeth were chattering. “Just co-cold from b-being out ‘ere so long.” Crutchie grimaced, taking in how pale the kid really was. He had been keeping his blood flowing by maneuvering his way through Manhattan, but it looked like the kid hadn’t moved in hours.

“What’re you doin’ out ‘ere?”

The kid shrugged. “I ran away f-from the o-orphanage I g-grew up in. Didn’t like it th-there much. So, I-I’m here. Th-thought I’d t-take a break be-before finding somewhere to sleep, but I g-guess I lost track of ti-time.”

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.” Oh. So the kid was older than him - just far too scrawny. “B-been living there my whole li-life, b-but I just didn’t wanna b-be there n-no more.”

Crutchie nodded as he stood and offered the hand that wasn’t clutching his crutch for the kid to take. “Well, I got somewhere you can go,” he said. “Ever heard of a newsie?”

Another grin lit up on the kid’s face as he grabbed Crutchie’s hand, mindful of the crutch tucked under his arm, and hoisted himself up, brushing the snow off his trousers. “Yeah. The n-nuns - I gr-grew up with ‘em - they b-bought papers from ‘em a lot, and once I asked where th-they were goin’, and they said they were g-goin’ to give the newsboys s-some food.”

“They give us breakfast a lot,” Crutchie confirmed. “Sometimes we’ll get clothes from ‘em, too. Mush - he’s another kid your age - once got a pair of shoes.”

They made the rest of the trek back to the Lodging House together. The kid’s face was even redder than Race’s had been from the nipping wind, and, between Crutchie’s limp and the taller, shivering kid beside him, the rest of the papes were gone within minutes.

“There y’are, Crutch,” Jack greeted, glancing up from his card game with Finch and Race - whose cheeks were still tinged with pink - as Crutchie forced open the door to the Lodging House, promptly slamming it behind him to keep the snow from blowing in. “Bear’s gonna be back tomorrow, put me in charge. You know, I think he might be agin’ - who’s the kid?”

“I found him in an alley,” Crutchie said as Jack stood and tossed him a couple towels to warm up. Crutchie handed one to the kid, who beamed gratefully. God, Crutchie hoped this kid could stay. His grin was too bright to go to waste in some factory - that’s what Jack had told him when he had first been picked up off the streets. “Told me he came from one of them nun orphanages. Can he stay? He can sell papes with us tomorrow.”

“‘Course,” Jack agreed heartily. Crutchie sighed in relief as his friend ruffled his hair. “Can’t turn down nobody that don’t got a place to sleep. We can introduce him to Bear later. What’s your name, kid?”

“Well, my r-real name’s kind of a mou-mouthful, so just c-call me Jo-Joe,” the kid said. He had wrapped the towel around his shoulders, and his teeth were still clattering, but he seemed more content.

“Jojo?” That was Race, who had abandoned the card game in favor of coming to stand beside Jack. He took his cigar out of his mouth, twirling it in his hands. “What kind of a name’s that?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Did you forget we named you after the tracks in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, but I ain’t always been called that.” Race shrugged. “Only got my name when I got around to sellin’ papes. I was just wonderin’ why your name’s somethin’ like Jojo if you grew up with nuns.”

“N-no,” the kid corrected, his smile faltering. “I said call m-me Joe. I-I’m just c-cold.”

“Well, you’re in luck, kid,” Jack smirked and clapped him on the back. “That idiot's Racetrack, and that there’s Crutchie, if he ain’t told you already. Over there’s Finch - see? We’s all got nicknames ‘round ‘ere.”

“Yeah, c’mon, Jojo,” Race laughed, jumping in again and wiggling his cigar in the kid’s direction. “You ain’t a true newsie unless you got a nickname. Well, everyone but Jackie over here. He’s a bum.”

“Alright,” the kid said as Jack scowled and swiped the cigar from Race's mouth, whacking him on the head. That ever-present grin was back on the kid's face. Jack was always joking how Crutchie smiled so much, but this new kid could give him a run for his money. “Jojo. My na-name’s Jojo.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I read a headcanon on Tumblr of how Jojo got his nickname because he has a stutter, but I wanted to (mostly) stick to canon information, sooooo you get this instead.


End file.
